


Sweater Envy

by zooeyscigar



Series: Sweater Envy 'Verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-workers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fade to Black, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, sex scenes take me way too long to write so i just didn't, sorry about the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zooeyscigar/pseuds/zooeyscigar
Summary: “Well, as you must know, most sweaters don’t lend themselves to showing off one’s body, which is why I don’t own any, and I kinda want to just refuse to buy one on principle and show up to the holiday party without one.”“In your leather jacket, perhaps? It is a classic look...” Flint was teasing him, but it felt good, and they both smiled.“Maybe.” John sounded petulant but he didn’t care.“You don’t have time to find one anyway. There’s only a couple hours between getting off work and the party starting, and it’s late enough in the season that most shops in the area will have been totally picked over.”“Oh well,” John said with absolutely no remorse in his voice.“You could...” Flint was suddenly very busy clicking on his computer again. “Feel free to say no, but you could come over and check out my selection if you wanted to borrow one.”





	Sweater Envy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NovaCaelum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaCaelum/gifts).



It was cold in Chicago. Even with that whole the-lake-makes-the-weather-milder bullshit, it was still fucking cold — and windy — in the wintertime. John was Not Amused. 

For some reason, Flint was. He seemed to relish the cold. Maybe it was just that his wardrobe was more suitable for this sort of climate, having grown up in England instead of southern Spain. Maybe he was just a lucky asshole that his personal style was sexy college professor and his collection of sweaters kept him both warm and fashionably dressed. 

John’s own style was more of the badass biker sort, the kind who wore a leather jacket in nearly all types of weather. Giving up the aesthetic for warmth was against his principles, but at this rate he was going to catch a nasty cold if he didn’t wear more layers. 

He’d thought about stealing one (or more) of Flint’s sweaters, but it might have looked like a flirtation thing. They were friends, so that wouldn’t be an inherently bad thing, but they were primarily Work Friends, and John knew that crossing the line with a coworker would be Bad News. Not that they actually worked together, not really, so a dalliance wouldn’t necessarily end in awkwardness at work, but still. John was trying to be professional for once in his miserable life because the pay was good and the people were actually okay. For the first time he actively didn’t want to lose his job.

IT wasn’t as dreary as it had seemed from afar and he enjoyed the customer service aspect of it. He worked at a big company that meant his clients were also technically his coworkers and the majority of them were really grateful that he could help them. The resentful minority were treated to very cheerful condolences at their ‘unexpected’ blue screens of death. 

That’s how he’d met Flint, in fact. The dude had looked like he was going to be one of those assholes who resents you the entire time you’re there, treats you like The Help, then says the fix was simple and he could have done it on his own if he didn’t have to follow company policy and get a service ticket for every last mishap. He  _ was _ the head of R&D, and boss to nearly fifty people, after all. 

But instead, Flint had been... human. He was gruff but kind, had gotten John a cup of tea, had asked pertinent questions and tried to follow along with what John was doing to fix the problem, and had actually apologized for not paying closer attention to diagnose the problem sooner. He hadn’t once stopped frowning while John was there, but at some point John realized that was his thoughtful face, not his angry face, and everything went a lot smoother once John didn’t low-key fear for his life. Flint and his frown were... intimidating, to say the least. 

And he seemed to have had that effect on everyone else in IT, because when John came back with a smile on his face and said Flint wasn’t half bad, the whole department just made note to give all service tickets for R&D to John from that day hence. 

Which had worked out great because it had been kinda fun to figure Flint out, little by little, ask innocuous questions during subsequent service visits and sketch out the guy’s deal. But John was quick to realize that Flint had the same idea and was trying to get a handle on who John was as well. In the end, they both seemed to decide the other was decent, (and possibly queer) and they had started sort of hanging out. Not much outside of work, but most things were work-related these days, especially when corporate had an obsession with employee morale and the social events were always catered with an open bar. John didn't make so much money that he would pass up free food and drink.  _ And _ an opportunity to hang out with Flint, who seemed to not want to hang out with anyone in his department either. 

And that's how John ended up in Flint's office on a Friday in the middle of December, trying to figure out how to ask him for fashion advice and sounding like a dork. 

“I mean, I get the whole It Looks So Bad It's Actually Good thing, but that should be reserved for all of 80s fashion, not holiday sweaters, no?”

“Yeah, ugly sweater parties jumped the shark at least four years ago, maybe more. But corporate is slow and out of touch with everything, so why should this be any different?” Flint was clicking through something on his perfectly working computer. John had no reason to be in his office at all, had only stopped into R&D for their monthly departmental backup/update, and he really should have been getting back to work. 

“Some of us have fashion sense that doesn't include sweaters at all. Why would they think I’d want the only sweater I owned to be ugly as sin and impossible to wear any other day of the year?

“Yeah, I wondered about that.” Flint finally looked up from the screen and frowned in a friendly way at John. “Why  _ don't _ you wear sweaters? It's too fucking cold not to.”

“What the fuck would I do in a god damned sweater?” Flint chuckled at John's indignation, which made him plead his case stronger. “You can't roll up the sleeves of a sweater.”

“True, and you're addicted to showing off your lovely forearms, so I get it.” Flint didn't roll his eyes, though the sentiment was implied. He did however glance at John's arms, which was intriguing. 

“What's the point of long sleeves if not to show off my forearms?”

Flint did scoff at that. “Then what's the point of short sleeves?”

“You have to ask?” John knew his smile was too flirty for the office but he couldn't help himself. “To show off my biceps.”

“If you've got it, flaunt it, I suppose.” Flint’s smile was directed at his screen, not John. It seemed unfair. 

“If I'm going to spend an hour a day beating my body into making enough serotonin to keep me from ending my life, I might as well enjoy the side effects.” John had kept his voice matter-of-fact without, he hoped, sounding brutally honest, and smiled genuinely at Flint, who nodded, his face blank but thankfully devoid of shock. 

“Seems fair. I'm not one to enjoy attention directed at my body, but that's my own shit. I'm glad you do.”

There was something about the way Flint twisted his mouth that made him seem embarrassed or apologetic, and John almost asked if he liked what he saw. 

But again, not appropriate for work. 

“Well, as you must know, most sweaters don’t lend themselves to showing off one’s body, which is why I don’t own any, and I kinda want to just refuse to buy one on principle and show up to the holiday party without one.”

“In your leather jacket, perhaps? It  _ is _ a classic look...” Flint was teasing him, but it felt good, and they both smiled. 

“Maybe.” John sounded petulant but he didn’t care.

“You don’t have time to find one anyway. There’s only a couple hours between getting off work and the party starting, and it’s late enough in the season that most shops in the area will have been totally picked over.”

“ _ Oh well, _ ” John said with absolutely no remorse in his voice.

“You could...” Flint was suddenly very busy clicking on his computer again. “Feel free to say no, but you  _ could _ come over and check out my selection if you wanted to borrow one.”

John stared. An invitation to Flint’s house was not something he’d ever expected. Hoped for, but not expected. But also wtf,  _ selection?  _ “You have more than one ugly holiday sweater.”

“Obviously. I’ve needed a new one every year.”

“How....” John coughed to hide a laugh. “How many ugly sweater parties have you been to?”

“I dunno. Fiveish? All of them a few years ago, but a sweater is a sweater. One doesn’t get rid of them until one is sure one will never need them again, ever.” 

“Your closet must be a trip.”

“It takes up most of the spare bedroom, to be honest.”

This time John couldn’t hide his laugh, and Flint looked up at him with a gleam in his eye and a half-smile tugging at his lips. 

God, he was beautiful. 

John needed to get back to work before he said something stupid and got reported to HR. “Well, then yeah. I’d appreciate a loaner if you’ve got one to spare.”

“You’re actually willing to wear an ugly sweater as long as you don’t have to buy it?” The half-smile was in full force now.

John shrugged and hoped he wasn’t blushing. Because as long as it was Flint’s sweater he’d wear it no matter what it looked like. All he said was, “When in Rome...”

Flint pursed his lips and the smile receded. “All right. Come home with me after work to pick it out, and we can head to the party from there.” His eyes were on his computer again but John’s ears heated up at the wording of the invitation anyway. 

“Ah, yeah. Sure. Meet you here at five?” 

“Yeah, great. See you then.” Flint hadn’t looked away from his screen and John felt summarily dismissed. 

Whatever, it was fine. He needed to get back to work so he’d be ready to leave at five. With Flint. 

All the rest of the afternoon John tried not to think about the coming evening. When his mind did stray to the prospect of being in Flint’s house and wearing his clothes, something buzzed low under his skin. They were Work Friends. He’d always assumed this wasn’t where they were headed, somehow. Maybe because he never had anyone — work-related or not — over to his cramped, messy studio, and he liked it that way. Did other people do this often? Maybe this invite wasn’t as special as it felt to John.

_ Sheesh.  _ This was why he stayed away from people as much as possible. They were useful, but usually, once they’d served their function, John was done. Flint’s primary function for the past four months had been to keep John from dying of boredom at work, and he was very good at it, in an ongoing capacity. 

But the weird part was, if he was being honest with himself, John would have to admit that for the last couple months, that level of friendship hadn’t quite felt like enough. John had ignored the itch because it wasn’t something he was comfortable scratching, but now Flint had opened up the opportunity for something more, and John was... not hesitant, but intrigued and wary. 

How much more was there possible between them? What was Flint actually offering here?

John let out a breath. He was overthinking this, as he was wont to do.

It was just a quick visit to borrow a sweater, and then heading to a party they were both already planning on going to. There was nothing more behind this invite. He really shouldn’t get his hopes up.

 

~~

 

At five o’clock, John was hovering outside Flint’s office. People were leaving, saying ‘see you later?’ and John couldn’t stand to nod at another person and smile like he cared if they would be at the party when he knew he would only end up talking to Flint. So, he knocked somewhat urgently on the door. 

He was just about to test the doorknob and maybe walk right in, when Flint stepped out, a small, pleased smile on his lips. “Ready?”

“Clearly. It’s 5:07. This is the latest I’ve ever stayed on a Friday.” It was a blatant lie but it made Flint chuckle, so it was worth it. 

He was carrying a briefcase, of all things, and its brown leather complimented his elbow-patched tweed jacket so beautifully, John felt as if Flint had been dressed for a movie or tv show or something. 

“Man, you missed your calling as a costumer.”

“I studied theatre in undergrad, actually. Costume design is fun, but I was never that good at construction.”

“I think half of my halloween costumes as a young man were made of duct tape and a prayer, so I’m not one to talk.”

“ _ Oh. _ Somewhere there is a photo album of all my costumes growing up.” Flint’s eyebrows were high, as if surprised at himself. “They were... involved. I used to spend all year planning.”

John grinned hugely. “You’re a fool to let me into your house. Now I’m gonna skip the party and spend the whole night looking for that album.” 

“Oh, if it still exists it’s in storage somewhere. But I already know I’m a fool, so...”

Flint’s smile made John duck his head for some reason. Maybe he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

They made their way out of the building and were already headed to the entrance of the el stop across the street before John noticed. 

“Green line?” Flint nodded. John added uselessly, “I take the red, heading north.”

“It feels silly to head all the way home then come right back downtown for the party, but we’ve got some time to kill, and I’m not that far out, maybe twenty minutes, door to door.”

John pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing under his jacket for warmth. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not headed to my place, we’d barely have any time at home before we had to turn around and come back.”

“Also, your place is utterly devoid of sweaters, ugly or otherwise,” Flint said with a smirk.

John instantly felt stupid. Of course this wasn’t really a social call. They had a single-minded purpose here. “Right. I just meant...”

“No I know. I’m sorry your commute is so long.”

“I get a lot of reading done.”

Flint immediately expressed interest in John’s reading habits, and John asked Flint about his own preferences, and that conversation carried them through the el ride and right up to Flint’s front door. 

At which point Flint stopped, turned to John and said, “Oh, by the way, I didn’t really think this through, and my place is probably a complete fucking mess. So my apologies for the horror inside...”

John just shrugged good-naturedly and mumbled something about not caring in the least, and his place was probably worse, etc, as Flint unlocked the door. 

The place was, of course, beautifully kept up, with only the minor clutter of functional everyday living. Unlike John’s place which was a disaster tornado at best, a festering swamp at worst. He resolved to never  _ ever _ have Flint over to his place, even if he’d spent an entire weekend cleaning beforehand. 

On the bright side, Flint was being an embarrassed darling, picking up after himself as he walked John through the apartment, and his cheeks were flushed pink by the time they made it into the guest-bedroom-cum-walk-in-closet.

He dumped the armful of clothes he’d gathered on the way into a hamper, then opened a huge wardrobe and pulled out a stack of mostly red and green fabric that turned out to be six holiday sweaters. He grabbed the first one and the others toppled into John’s arms. 

“This one’s mine, but the rest are fair game. Try them on while I change. One of them’s bound to work.”

Five minutes later John had held them all up to himself in the full-length wardrobe mirror and had also tried one on for size. He had come to the conclusion that everything about this idea was truly shitty. He raised his voice so it would carry without actually screaming down the hall, saying, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

Flint’s voice got progressively louder and closer as he replied. “They’re  _ supposed _ to look bad, remember.” And then he was standing in the doorway, sizing John up and adding, “Okay but that one actually won’t work. Try another.”

He looked positively adorable in his sweater, of course. It was a red and green cardigan with big appliqué ornaments on it, and instead of looking like a college professor, he could now pass for a kindergarten teacher. John had no idea how that could possibly be hot, but Flint managed to pull it off, damn him. Must have been the fact that he’d taken his hair out of its eternal half-ponytail and let it fall over his forehead and nearly into his eyes. 

John itched to tuck it behind Flint’s ear.

Instead, he stripped off the sweater he was wearing, tossed it on the floor, and pulled another one over his head with a long-suffering sigh. Flint ignored the commentary and looked him over with a critical eye. 

“Better... but still not right. Try the one on the bottom of the pile. No, not the one with the sleigh bells, I’d shoot you less than two drinks in.”

John gave him his best Shocked And Appalled face, and Flint’s lips twitched as he amended his statement. “Not shoot. But, if you hadn’t already, I’d rip the bells off, and then what’s the point of that sweater anymore?”

“How did you stand them when  _ you  _ wore it? Why did you buy it in the first place?”

“I was annoyed with my host and knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after everyone else had left if I never stopped jingling the whole evening.”

John didn’t miss the pronoun in that statement but he also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease. “You cockblocked yourself with a sweater at an ugly sweater party. That’s... fucking impressive.”

“Thank you, I try.” Flint took a very slight, very formal bow, his face betraying no humor. At least, not until John snorted in amusement. Then the half-smile came out and John inwardly rejoiced.

“You try to cockblock yourself, or you try to impress?”

“I  _ try for  _ the latter. The former just sort of happens, most of the time.” With a full-on frown, Flint was vaguely watching John’s movements as he changed into the non-sleighbell sweater Flint had pointed out. 

It fit better than John had expected it to. It was still bulky, but not in a I’m-wearing-my-father’s-ugly-sweater sort of way. It was blue and white with a knitted snowflake and reindeer pattern across the chest and biceps. When John looked closer he realized one of the reindeer was mounting the other.

“You’ve  _ got _ to be joking. Happy fucking holidays, I guess.” 

James huffed, eyes shining in amusement. John couldn’t help but ask, “When the hell did you wear this one?”

The amusement skewed towards wryness as James replied. “That was the year I’d  _ wanted _ my host to ask me to stay after everyone had left.”

John had never expected to be jealous of a man who threw ugly sweater holiday parties, _ plural, _ but here he was, his stomach roiling with excess bile. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Flint said, busying himself with picking up the discarded sweaters and refolding them. “You should definitely wear that one. It looks good.”

Trying to hide the flush in his cheeks, John said, “You don’t think the subject matter is inappropriate for a work function?”

“No. Most people won’t notice, and those that do won’t say anything. Unless they’re drunk, and then _ they _ are the ones being inappropriate.”

“Brilliant.” John would have said more if Flint hadn’t stopped right in front of him and adjusted the sweater near the neck, then smoothed it out over his shoulders with a look of satisfaction that a perfectionist would wear when getting something just right. 

This was absurd. John had managed to keep a tight rein on inappropriate thoughts about his work friend for nigh on four months — well, at least the first two — and here he was, receiving the bare minimum of attention to his looks for the first time and he was a complete goner. He wanted to roll over and show Flint his belly. He wanted Flint to touch him like that always — like it was the most normal thing, like Flint had every right to touch, like they both knew he belonged to Flint.

_ Steady on there, boy. It was just a casual brush of the hand.  _

“There,” Flint was saying. “Now you look perfect.”

“You'll be seen with me?” John joked, though the moment he said it he worried it was implying coupledom in some weird way. 

“Gladly,” was Flint's only response. Then, “Come on. If we get there too late all the canapés will be gone.”

 

~~

 

The el ride back into downtown was pleasant — comfortable, even — and more silent than not. The only other difference from the ride out was that they sat instead of stood, and John enjoyed the warmth of Flint's body right up next to his. He knew he shouldn't, but he did. 

Especially since he'd had to leave his hoodie behind. The sweater was too thick to wear both it and the sweatshirt under his jacket, so Flint had offered to bring it with him to work on Monday, if John remembered to bring the reindeer sweater in exchange for it. 

The problem was, his neck was cold without the bulk of the hood around it. But then he'd decided since it was after work hours, even though it was a work function, he could get away with taking out his ponytail. Flint shot him a look of what seemed to be approval, which warmed him more than his hair. 

And finally, they were at the holiday party. 

It proved to be the least memorable thing about the whole night, but John did manage to have fun. 

Anne Bonny, from acquisitions, was in a sweater with a huge appliqué Christmas tree that had actual battery powered lights on it. John managed to keep his manhood intact by not laughing at her, though it was a close thing. He was pretty sure she knew how to knee a man hard enough to push his balls back up into his body. Her girlfriend Max, the stunning COO, was the only one in a sweater dress, which John would call cheating — not because it wasn't technically a sweater, but because it was the polar opposite of ugly. And yes, it fit her like a glove and only came down to her upper thigh. 

Flint caught John staring and whispered, “Look away before Anne kills you.”

He was right and he should say it. 

John winced and glanced at Flint, whose hair was doing this beautiful wave over his forehead and sticking out just slightly behind his ears. He was almost as enticing as Max, and definitely as off-limits. Dammit. 

“Thanks. I should cut back on the whisky. It does things to me.”

“Like making you contemplate beautiful women?”

“Beautiful people,” John corrected before he could stop himself. 

Flint shifted his weight on his feet but didn't move away, which John took as a win. They'd never officially discussed sexuality as it was not work-appropriate, but John felt that the friendship had been easy to strike up because they both had acknowledged the queerness in the other early on. This was just him finally confirming it on his end, but it still could be seen as a bit forward. John took a half-step back and made a show of looking around the room. 

“We're a good-looking group, I feel.”

“Says the most beautiful man in the room.”

Flint wasn't even looking at John when he turned back to him. Instead, he was frowning at his nearly empty glass of wine. 

John's heart kicked at his chest such that Flint could have seen it if he'd been looking. 

And  _ God _ did John wish that he was. 

He ducked his head down to get nearer Flint's line of vision and spoke softly, intimately. “You think I'm beautiful?”

Flint scoffed and only looked up for a second. “Doesn't everyone?”

“I don't care about everyone. I care about you.”

That didn't come out right. Or, well, it came out too right. More right than John felt he had the right to be right now. 

Man, he was actually a bit drunk. _ Shit.  _

“Do you?” Flint's voice was more intrigued than mocking, but his eyes glinted with a sharp light — one that indicated he was just the right amount of tipsy that he would win any battle with words he attempted.

John knew he should tread lightly. He should back off and assess the situation logically, with an eye to keeping his job. 

But it was nearly Christmas, so fuck that.  _ Happy fucking holidays. _

“Yeah. I do,” he ventured. “And for the record, you're gorgeous, too.”

The dull pink that sat high on Flint's cheekbones when he drank darkened, and Flint looked anywhere but at John. But he still didn't move away. 

“Especially when you wear your hair down,” John added, low and suggestive. 

_ “ Me? _ _”_ Flint blinked at John, genuinely shocked. “When  _ you _ do it, people very nearly fall at your feet. Look at Muldoon over there, near the food. He looks like he'd happily drown in your hair right about now.” 

There was a sneer in Flint's voice that made John's stomach flip.

But he apparently wasn't done yet. “Haven't you noticed people's hands clenching around you? They all want to bury their fingers in that great mass of curls. It's pathetic.”

That caught John up short. “Pathetic? Why?”

“Because it's a fool's errand. You're too professional to let any of us have—”

“Us?”

“Fuck,” Flint breathed, as he angled himself away from John, swaying slightly. “Anyone you work with. It's smart to not get involved with someone at the office. I get it. I do.”

That's when something that should have been obvious finally clicked. John couldn’t help grinning like an idiot. “You've been hoping I’d ask you out. On a date. For months. And all this time I thought that was over the line, that it was a horrible idea, and I’ve been Suffering...”

James turned abruptly towards John, his mouth nearer to John’s ear than expected. “Do you wanna go? Back to my—”

“Yeah,” John croaked, breathless. “Gotta grab my hoodie, after all. Let's get out of here.”   
  


~~

 

James couldn't believe his fucking luck. 

He was standing on an el platform waiting for a train to take him and the most beautiful man he’d ever met back to his place. He had his arms wrapped around Silver, nose buried in his curls, and was breathing warmth onto his neck. It was like something out of a dream.

He was pretty sure he’d fantasized about this exact scenario, even. One where Silver was cold — he was always cold — and Flint warmed him up in all the best ways. 

But truth be told, he  _ never  _ thought it would happen in real life. 

Silver was the kind of guy who was disarmingly nice, and so fun and funny and good at teasing and making James laugh, toeing the line of flirting  _ so close _ , that James had felt he  _ must _ like him. But then of course because Silver was just a nice guy who knew his place and wasn’t  _ really  _ flirting, just being nice, James realized that no, Silver was just like that with everyone. Also, everyone he’d spoken to that fall had at least a small crush on John Silver, so James wasn’t special at all.

Except then James seemed to become the person Silver came to when he didn’t need to, the one he gravitated to at social functions, the one he gossiped with and told stories he really shouldn’t have been telling. And when he smiled at James like there wasn’t anyone else at this hellhole of a business that he respected and enjoyed spending time with, James was a fucking goner. 

So he’d waited and he’d pined, and he hoped he hadn’t misread things but he still managed to second guess himself at least three times a week. Because he knew he really shouldn’t make any kind of move, being the much more senior employee. Even though James didn’t have any power over Silver’s department, it just wouldn’t look right. But  _ god dammit. _

And Silver, damn him, seemed oblivious — he in fact seemed immune to any subtle hints that when James asked him out for a beer after work he wasn’t looking for a bro-y hangout. That really, James wanted to touch Silver in ways HR would have his head for. That he couldn’t even look at Silver for long spans of time because his body would be drawn to Silver’s like a fucking magnet. And that even though they really shouldn’t get together,  _ by God _ James wanted Silver to want it as much as he did.

And soon James had started to wonder what dignity even was anymore, and where he could have possibly left his. 

Oh yeah, in Silver’s hands. His fucking beautiful, strong,  _ useless  _ hands. 

Which wasn’t fucking fair, but there it was.

And so the bitterness built up, until it finally came spilling out at the worst moment, when Silver was wearing James’ god damned clothes and looking like a fucking banquet laid out for the whole company to see and snack on. James’ hands had refused to stay still and his mouth had begun to run of its own accord because he’d drunk too much wine to mask the constant bitter taste in the back of his throat.

And Silver had blinked like an infant focusing on a face for the first time, and he’d fucking smiled and said  _ yes. _

And then he’d given them a perfectly valid reason to leave together and touched the small of James’ back and it’d felt like Christmas had come early this year. 

And here they were, with Silver letting James hold him in public and humming delightedly at the embarrassing things James’ was whispering in his ear.  _ Christ.  _ How the heavens rejoiced.

James was dizzy with that realization, the one that this was actually happening, that Silver was into him and wanted to spend the night — or at least the next few hours — with him. 

“God, I’ve wanted to kiss you for so fucking long. Every time you bite your lip when you’re thinking, I hold my breath.”

“Fucking stop. We can’t just make out on the train, and you’re not helping,” Silver mumbled, cheeks flushed pink.

“I should have tugged you into an alley and kissed you when I had the chance.”

“God, why didn’t you? Now I have to wait the whole train ride before I can taste you.” Silver was actually pouting. It was adorable.

James kissed his jaw. “We’ll take that seat in the back of the car, the one in the weird little alcove.”

“Unless there’s a drunk asleep in it,” Silver grumped as he tugged James’ arms tighter around his waist. “God, you’re warm. All this time I could have been so much less cold. You could have been my extra coat. What a waste.”

“Don’t,” James said, cuddling up even more against Silver’s back. “Yes, we were stupid and slow. But caution is good. And being friends first wasn’t a fucking hardship or anything...”

“Tell that to my libido,” Silver snarked softly as he settled much of his weight against James’ chest. 

“I’m sure you could satisfy that without me,” James said with a chuckle to cover a spike of jealousy low in his gut. 

“Yeah, but it’s not as fun alone, obvy.” 

James blinked, his eyelashes getting caught in Silver’s curls. “Alone? Wait, when was the last time you—”

“I dunno, but I’m not gonna get with someone else while thinking about you, am I? That’s just plain rude.”

“So... you’ve thought about me while getting off?” James’ lips brushed Silver’s neck just behind his ear. Silver shivered, hard.

“Yeah? A couple times, but not until recently. I haven’t been leching over you for the  _ whole  _ time I’ve worked here or anything...”

A stream of hot guilt poured into James’ stomach and pooled there, heating him all over with embarrassment. He’d wanted Silver from very early on, but only a fool would admit that to someone they’d called friend that whole time. “How long, then?”

“Oh a good  _ half  _ the time, surely,” Silver said with a self-deprecating smile. “Prolly since I was totally sure you were queer. When you stumbled on pronouns talking about your ex—”

“Thomas.” 

“Yeah.” John rubbed his temple against James’ shoulder and they both fell quiet.

James had been careful at work to only ever use the word partner, no matter which ex he was referring to, and he tried to stay gender neutral with pronouns as well, which was its own sort of giveaway, but at least it wasn’t proof of anything. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d slipped up when telling a story about Thomas until he saw the recognition in Silver’s eyes. It had made his heart stop for a beat and a half, but then Silver had looked away and the story concluded and it wasn’t mentioned again. But incidentally, that was also the moment James was truly certain that Silver was queer, too. 

He just hadn’t been aware of what sort of door he’d opened when he’d outed himself. 

Now of course it made him hot to think about Silver going home that night and letting his fantasies off leash for the first time. 

God, that was like two months ago, right around the fall product launch. Just before the Halloween party when James had wanted to take Silver home and peel off his pirate costume piece by piece... and instead watched him climb in an Uber with Ellie from accounting.

“But you and Ellie at Halloween...” 

“We both live way up north. It was late. No one wanted to wait for the el.”

“You’re telling me you two didn’t...”

“Does it matter if we did?”

“N—no...? I just—”

“Is it going to be a problem that I’m bi? Or pan, you know, whatever.”

“No, I am too. I just wondered...”

Silver tensed up and pulled away from James’ embrace. He turned around but didn’t look James in the face as he said, “I dunno what you need to know right now. Have I been with anyone else recently? Have I already fucked someone else from work? What?” 

“No, I...” James swallowed the hard kernel of insecurity that lodged in his throat and tried to assess how angry Silver was. Or even  _ if _ he was angry, or just blustering.

“It’s a little early for jealousy, James. I haven’t even let you fuck me yet and you’re already fretting about Ellie of all people?”

_ “Christ.” _ Silver smirked as James blushed hard and tried not to let his imagination run wild with that suggested scenario.

“Lucky for you Ellie is still pining for Charles You’re-So-Vane, who, by the way, she griped to me about  _ all the way home _ on Halloween. To be honest, I was happy to get free of her het nonsense by the end.”

“I’m sorry I brought her up. It doesn’t matter.” James bent his head until their foreheads were pressed together. “I’m just an old fool and I already wanted you back then.”

Silver leaned in and kissed James’ nose. Of all the places for Silver’s lips to first fall on James...

“You’re not old. Though you might be a fool if you think Eleanor Guthrie could ever hold more appeal than you do. God, you looked so good that night in your fancy soldier’s outfit.”

“Eighteenth Century British Naval Officer. There was a massive theatre costume sale over the summer and I couldn’t resist...”

“Fucking hot,” Silver murmured, his lips brushing James’ cheekbone. “Would have gone home with you that night if you’d asked me.”

James hiccuped in surprise at the confession, but the sound was masked by the el train finally arriving. 

The train stopped, the doors in front of them opened, and as Silver stepped inside he glanced over his shoulder and winked at James, who felt his cheeks flush hot — hotter than they already were. 

Silver moved to the back of the car but this was one without the little seat in the alcove, so they sat down in the furthest corner, Silver up against the window, James on the outside. 

Almost before the train started moving again, Silver had slouched down a bit and leaned against James. James took the liberty of wrapping his arm around Silver’s shoulders and resting his cheek on Silver’s head. 

They didn’t speak for the first couple stops, but Silver played with the buttons on James’ coat and cardigan. Actually, it took James a minute to realize that he was just systematically unbuttoning the top couple buttons of everything James was wearing — coat, sweater, oxford shirt. It wasn’t easy to tell because he’d reached under James’ scarf so his hand wasn’t visible. But when probing fingers met the fabric of his undershirt with no way in, and Silver made a frustrated sound in his throat, James chuckled. 

“Sorry, but layering is important in winter. I really should give you a tutorial at some point.”

“I’m learning firsthand how difficult it is to reach skin,” Silver said with another adorable pout on his very kissable lips. 

James tugged gently on Silver’s curls and he tilted his head up to look James in the eyes. 

“You’ve got my hands and face...”

“I get those all the time,” Silver mumbled.

“Not like this.” 

James cupped Silver’s cheek and bent his head to press a soft kiss to his perfect lips. James had been imagining kissing those lips for months and finally getting to was better than any fantasy. It sparked desire in him, surely, but it also ignited the need for closeness he’d been tamping down for ages.

Men aren’t allowed to be physically close to their friends. Queer men are less restricted with each other, but not when they are trying to downplay their sexuality at work. Generally, touch isn’t allowed unless it can be framed as violence or first aid. 

But James had been wanting to be physically close with Silver for a while — not just sexually intimate, though he wanted that too. This was a separate need, and one that was much harder to satisfy with a substitute. 

And right now, curled up together in an el seat, kissing softly, hands gentle with each other,  _ this _ sort of touch was all he wanted. 

Silver had pressed his palm to James’ chest, right over his heart, but now he slid it up until he was cupping the back of James’ neck, and God, that felt good.  _ Right. _ James’ hand in Silver’s hair was buried deep, clutching a huge handful of curls, not to pull or direct, just to anchor him — to anchor them both. 

A soft moan escaped Silver’s lips and slipped directly into James’ mouth. He smiled and kissed Silver again, open-mouthed but only just, and pressed their foreheads together to catch his breath. 

“More,” Silver breathed.

“Everyone can see us.”

“No,” Silver rubbed their noses together. “More of  _ this _ . No further, just more of the same.”

“There’s only two stops left.”

“Then shut up and kiss me again,” Silver said against James’ lips. 

James did as he was told. And then he kissed Silver’s forehead, and temple, and hair. He rubbed a thumb over Silver’s scruffy beard, tugged on his earlobe, and traced his eyebrow with a fingertip. 

Silver kissed his nose again and settled against him, head on his shoulder, hand once again on his heart. 

He sighed and James smiled, saying, “Yeah? This is good?”

“Yeah. Perfect.”

They stayed like that, cuddled up together as content as could be, until they reached their stop. As the train braked James stood up, then stepped back to let Silver out first, and the darling reached back for James’ hand as they made their way out of the train car and onto the frigid platform. 

James then offered his arm and Silver took it with a grin. 

Something seemed to have shifted though, and James couldn’t help worrying. In having to put off their, say,  _ enthusiasm _ for travel purposes, James feared they’d lost it altogether. Maybe Silver was rethinking this whole thing. James wouldn’t blame him — it really wasn’t a good idea to date someone at the office, especially a superior. James, unfairly, would catch less hell than Silver would, though they would get more disapproving looks than if Silver was a woman. Possibly not as many as if James was a woman, though. 

God, the patriarchy sucked balls. 

As they walked up to his door and James got out his keys he tried for lighthearted, saying, “Have we taken too long and sobered up too much? If you wanna just grab your hoodie and head home, I’ll get you a Lyft...”

Silver had started to press himself to James’ back as he unlocked the door, but at James’ words he backed up. “Oh, I — I haven’t, have you? I mean, I’m mostly sober but I haven’t changed my mind. Unless you think I should go...?”

“No, no. Only if you want to.” James stumbled as the door gave inwards, but Silver caught him and pulled him close once they were inside. 

“I don’t. I want to stay the night. I want to finally get to touch you, and to feel your hands on me, and I want to curl up next to you and fall asleep.” He looked earnestly up at James, hands on his chest, buried under the scarf. “If that’s okay...”

“More than. Sounds kinda perfect, actually.” James kissed Silver’s forehead and he made an unsatisfied noise.

“To be clear I also want you to fuck me, but I just...” He wrapped his arms around James’ neck and pressed close. “All of this stuff feels really fucking good. To finally be able to touch you — hold you — like this.”

James nearly confessed how long he’d been wishing Silver would consent to date him, how long he ached for this exact scene to play out after every time they spent the evening together. How much he’d itched to touch Silver in all the ways a friend couldn’t. How sharply the satisfaction curled, deep in his belly, when he saw Silver wearing his sweater. But he kept his mouth shut.

“God, and wearing this...” Silver plucked at the reindeer sweater with a smirk on his lips. “I nearly made myself dizzy at the party, smelling your scent on me. Did you spray it with your cologne before I borrowed it?”

“You know I didn’t. There was no time to, between my offer to lend it and you putting it on.” James pressed his nose to Silver’s shoulder, hoping to get a noseful of both his own cologne and Silver’s personal scent. They blended well together, as the low growl emanating from his own throat proved.

“Is that a hint to take it off?” Silver chuckled. “I’d rather have you against my skin than it.”

“Yes,” James huffed as he tugged off his own.

Once the sweaters hit the floor, most of the rest of their clothes followed. They barely made it to the bedroom before they were on top of each other.

It seemed they hadn’t lost their enthusiasm at all.

 

~~

 

Two hours and five orgasms later...

“Enough, enough, I’m too old for another round,” James pleaded as John’s hand slid below his waist again. “Can we just lie here?”

“Yeah, sorry,” John conceded, smiling guiltily. “You just feel so good I can’t stop touching you.” 

“Well don’t go anywhere, just...” James wrapped his arm around John’s shoulder, which felt like an invitation to keep himself curled up against James’ side, so John relented and interwove the fingers of his roaming hand with James’.

Then he sighed and settled against James, who relaxed into John’s embrace with a low, contented hum. John hoped that meant cuddling would make up for the uneven number of orgasms.

“So... it’s okay if I stay the night?” John breathed against James’ skin.

“God, yes. Then I can make you breakfast in the morning, if that’s all right?” 

John snorted in surprise and amusement. “Are you serious? Zero to perfect boyfriend in six seconds.” 

James made a surprised noise in his throat and John thought for a second he’d choke. “Is... Is that what you want? To be my—”

Shit. Had he already screwed this up? Maybe this was meant to be a one night thing — a let’s-get-it-out-of-our-systems-and-never-revisit-it situation. But James had been so sweet on the train home, and John had felt like they finally made sense together, and... “I dunno, I’m sorry. One night and one breakfast doesn’t mean we—”

“No, I’m into it if you—”

“Only if that’s allowed—”

“Fuck what’s allowed, John. I haven’t thought of anyone but you in months. And not just in Not Safe For Work ways.”

John internally sighed the biggest sigh of relief to ever have been sighed, but tried to cover it by teasing, “Oh, what, you also think of making me dinner?” 

James tilted his head up so he could look at John for a moment, his fond gaze warming John to his toes. “More like taking you out. And other stupid shit like texting you sweet things when you’re having a tough day at work, or spending lazy weekend days together, or buying flowers for your desk without anyone knowing they’re from me.”

He was staring at the ceiling with a vague grin on his face, like he could see the scenes playing out in front of him. John’s stomach flipped at the sight. “Shit, you  _ have _ been thinking about this.”

“Well, we’ve sorta been dancing around it for months, it feels like. Or at least I have. Suffering all the feelings but without all the benefits of actually being your sweetheart...”

Was there such a thing as feeling relieved that someone else had been going through the same pain you’d been feeling? Sort of an empathetic schadenfreude? If not, John had just invented it. 

He kissed James’ chin and snuggled up even closer, revelling in the heat as well as the scent of his body. 

There was so much more under the sweet musk of his familiar cologne — the salty tang of sweat, the sharp aroma of arousal, a bitter whiff of adrenaline and John’s own saliva drying on his skin. It was a blend of odors that John never wanted to be far from, and already he was ascribing it meaning — comfort both emotional and physical, satisfaction of every stripe, the self-assuredness, grace, and tenderness with which James went about most things, but definitely how he approached sex... 

God, John was far gone on him already.

And the shy, flustered way James was fidgeting with John’s hair, as if afraid John wasn’t as into being ‘sweethearts’ as he was, just caught his heart and pulled it deeper into this sea of feelings. John would happily drown here if James would go down with him. 

“Yeah, no more dancing. I’m not going anywhere now we’ve figured this nonsense out.”

“Good. Stay.” James whispered, squeezing John’s hand and rubbing his back, the warmth of his hand as it travelled over cooled skin making John shiver in delight. 

“Okay, but wait, hang on.” John raised up onto an elbow and smirked down at James’ face. “You really think of cooking breakfast and buying flowers for your date as perks?” James frowned but nodded. “Fucking sign me up for this relationship, man. I hate cooking but I  _ love _ breakfast. And gerbera daisies.”

James laughed, and John couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard something so joyful. “Sold. Daisies are easy, and breakfast is my specialty. Just sign right here,” he said as he raised his head far enough for their lips to be a breath apart. 

John laughed and sealed his lips to James’ in a kiss that they later decided really was the official start of their relationship. It couldn’t have felt more right. 

Happy Fucking Holidays, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write!   
> Thanks for a fun prompt, NovaCaelum!  
> (in fact, I had so much fun, I've already got an epilogue that I'll publish next week :D )  
> Happy Holidays, everyone!  
> <3


End file.
